The Chevalier and Victor bundled together
a few necessities, such as cloaks, blankets and arms. They set out at
once while the moon was yet high; set out in silence and with sullen
rage.
Jean Pauquet and the vicomte were in the act of following, when
D'Herouville, disheveled and breathing heavily from his run down from
the upper town, arrested them.
"Vicomte," he cried, "you must take me with you. I can find no one to
go with me."
"Stay here then. Out of the way, Monsieur." The vicomte was not
patient to-night, and he had not time for banter.
"I say that you shall!"
"Not to-night. Now, Pauquet."
"One of us dies, then!" D'Herouville's sword was out.
"Are you mad?" exclaimed the vicomte, recoiling.
"Perhaps. Quick!" The sword took an ominous angle, and the point
touched the vicomte.
"Get in!" said the vicomte, controlling his wild rage. "I will kill
you the first opportunity. To-night there is not time." He seized his
paddle, which he handled with no small skill considering how recently
he had applied himself to this peculiar art of navigation.
Pauquet took his position in the stern, while D'Herouville crouched
amidships, his bare sword across his knees.
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